


All I Want For Christmas Is You (and a grenade launcher or two)

by Marvelite5Ever



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Both Deadpool and Magneto can speak German, But blue is, Cablepool - Freeform, Christmas, Christmas Cablepool fluff, Christmas conspiracy theories, Deadpool thinks angst is boring, Drunk!Bobby, Eggnog-induced Deadpool Angst, Fluff, Green is not Scott's color, Happy Holidays Everyone!, M/M, Magneto has secret plans to take over the world, Magneto is cool as a cucumber, Mistletoe keeps appearing everywhere, Mistletoe results in odd pairings, Poor Nathan, Rogue happens to be wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, Softy!Logan, The author knows very little German, Wade has a paintball gun, Wade is not a homosapien and is therefore okay by Magneto, and is gunning for everyone in ugly Christmas sweaters, butchery of Christmas carols, emotionally stunted idiots, lots of kisses, paranoia of ugly Christmas sweaters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelite5Ever/pseuds/Marvelite5Ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wade bashes Christmas, forms conspiracy theories, is paranoid about ugly sweaters, and abuses Christmas carols (likely to make himself feel better about never having anyone to spend Christmas with). </p><p>And in which Nate then pays Wade to accompany him to the X-Men Christmas party, because he needs (or maybe just wants) the emotional support for interacting with his dad (and maybe because he wants to spend Christmas with Wade, but doesn't know any other way to do so). </p><p>And in which mistletoe happens (because the God of Mistletoe is a mischievous, conniving, evil creature).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Conspiracy Theories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stryfe (Wade_Winston_Wilson)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wade_Winston_Wilson/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Cablepool fluff for Stryfe (Wade_Winston_Wilson). I hope this makes up for all the heartbreaking fics I've written recently, love!
> 
> Apparently this takes place in an alternate universe where Nate is still running Providence and also still has his telepathy and telekensis.
> 
> So yeah: random, unspecified AU. Whatever. Doesn't matter, right?

* * *

_**~Cable's Office, Providence, December 18, 3:33 PM~** _

* * *

“What are you doing for Christmas, Wade?” 

Wade looked up in surprise from where he'd been lying on his back on the floor of Nathan's office and shooting a rubber band at the ceiling—catching it before it fell onto his face, and shooting it at the ceiling again; catch, shoot, earn a glare from the annoyed messiah at the twang of rubber against the ceiling, catch, shoot, earn a glare, repeat, repeat, repeat—to see Nathan looking at him over his paper-covered desk. 

The effect would have been more impressive if Nate wore glasses, Wade thought. 

“The effect would be more impressive if you wore glasses,” Wade said. 

Nathan blinked. “Wade,” he said carefully, raising his eyebrows. “Did you hear what I said?” 

“Nope!” Wade said cheerfully, absentmindedly flicking the rubber band against his skin. Because of his healing factor, he could flick the rubber band against his skin over and over and over, and it would never leave so much as an angry red mark. “Was it something important? Or were you going to finally ask me to stop hitting your ceiling with my rubber band? Because you know that would be a useless endeavor and I didn't have you pegged as that much of an idiot.” 

“I asked what you were doing for Christmas,” Nathan said, easily ignoring most of what Wade said. Holding a conversation with the Merc with a Mouth was a skill that the mutant had practically mastered by that point. 

Wade blinked in surprise. “What day is it?” he asked, sitting up and glancing around the walls for a calendar. 

“December eighteenth,” Nathan answered. “Christmas is in a week.” 

“Oh,” Wade said, then shrugged, indifferently plucking at his red Deadpool t-shirt (Nathan had no idea where he got them). “I didn't realize it was that close to Christmas. Don't get me wrong—I mean, I totally noticed all the Christmas merchandise in the stores and the people wearing ugly sweaters and all that, but since all that shit appears literally the day after Thanskgiving, I wouldn't have known whether it was actually December or still November or not.” Wade frowned, looking like he was trying to remember something. “I don't think I've remembered to change my calendar since March.” 

“So you don't have any plans, then?” Nathan asked, looking almost surprised. 

“Not unless someone hires me to crash someone's Christmas party,” Wade said with a shrug, lying back down on his back and shooting the rubber band at the ceiling again, crossing his jean-clothed legs at the ankles, one beat-up black and red sneaker tapping against the other. “I don't get what all the hype is about, honestly. I'm not Christian, Santa Clauses are creepy as hell—I've been avoiding shopping malls since the damn things started showing up all over the place so I'm not tempted to shoot any of them—and I'm a bad boy anyway, so I don't leave a stocking up knowing all I'd get is nothing cuz I'm so bad I don't even deserve coal.”

Wade played with the rubber band, the movement looking like a parody of some disco move, both his pointer fingers out and wrists rotating as he move the rubber band around his fingers. “Also, Christmas carols drive me up the wall—literally—I had on ice skates this one time and then these people started singing Christmas carols and the next thing you know— _BAM!”_ In a moment Wade had disengaged his hands from the rubber band and clapped, loud enough to make Nathan flinch slightly in surprise. “There were deep cuts up the wall and I was hanging from the chandelier. Which then fell, and everyone had to be cleared from the area because the lightbulbs had mercury int hem or something.”

But for all that Wade was trying to act casual, Nathan could see the way the lackluster shadows appear in Wade's eyes even as he smiled an excited (but ultimately empty) smile, in that way that happened whenever Wade was covering up hurt. 

“I… see,” Nathan said slowly. 

Wade was smiling at him (the smile came nowhere near his eyes). “Why're ya asking? You got plans?”

Nathan sighed, a hand to his temple. “I have received several Christmas party invitations. However, the parties are but mere guises for political and diplomatic conventions.”

“Even the X-Men Christmas party?” Wade asked him, raising a hairless brow, the rubber band once more rolling over his fingers. 

“That's the one I'm most worried about,” Nathan admitted, not bothering to ask how Wade knew about it. “My ties with my father and his X-Men have not been… close… as of the present.” 

Wade rolled his eyes, his tone mocking when he spoke. “Oh boohoo, the father that sent me off into the future to save my life has invited me to a Christmas party and now I have to go _socialize_ with him and his surrogate children that he knows better than me, and also with the woman who's dating my dead and who is actually really hot and isn't that awkward. Also because they don't know about my X-Force team and the dirty work we do, and they still think that I'm trying to take over the world because I created an island of granola-eating hippies. And now I have to go be all diplomatic to convince them that I'm not an evil tyrant, _boohoo._ All while listening to cheerful Christmas music and drinking eggnog and carefully avoiding the mistletoe hung in every doorway.”

“Yes, thank you for summing that up, Wade,” Nathan sighed, a hand over his face that had ended up there about five words into the mercenary's monologue. 

“Just helping you put everything into perspective,” Wade answered, stretching the rubber band into a parallelogram over one eye, peering through it. “Ho ho ho, and a bottle of rum! Santa Claus the pirate has come to cut off your thumb!” 

“You certainly do have a unique perspective,” Nathan said, sighing again.

“You know,” Wade said, twisting around to look at him, eyes narrowed speculatively, “you should spend the next week growing a beard. That way you can put on a Santa hat and look like Santa Claus.” Wade snickered. “A very buff Santa Claus. But nobody would think you were an evil, tyrannic ruler if you looked like Santa Claus!” 

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Would they really? You sure they wouldn't take it as evidence of my plans to rule the world?” 

Wade hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “Actually yeah,” he agreed. “If you dressed up as Santa Claus, they'd probably all think you're the reason why tons of other people are dressed up as Santa Claus, and that maybe you made the entire thing up and used your mind-whammy powers to trick them into thinking that the Santa invasion is completely normal.” Wade hummed again. “Either that or that you're trying to get into the minds of all the gullible children by convincing them that you're the _real_ Santa, since you could probably just read their minds and make almost all their wishes come true and shit.”

Nathan's left hand rubbed over his face. “You could be a conspiracy theorist,” he said tiredly. 

“I _am_ a conspiracy theorist,” Wade snorted, sitting up and shooting the rubber band at Nate's face. The rubber band hit Nate's metal hand and fell to the floor. “Why do you think all the Santas and elves make me paranoid in the first place? They're in league with clowns and mimes, I'm sure of it! One of these days they're gonna kill us all in our sleep!” Wade's face darkened comically. “They're probably trying to recruit the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy to their cause.” He looked at Nathan with an expression that was so earnest it couldn't have been anything but fake. “They're going to try and take over the world, Nate. Just you watch—the next major Marvel Universe battle will not be with aliens, or even a superhero Civil War—it's going to be a battle against those malevolent creatures that were created to trick children with _lies.”_

Nathan leaned out of his chair to pick up the rubber band before Wade could crawl across the floor to get it. 

Wade pouted, eyes narrowed on the rubber band. _“Lies,_ Nathan,” he said again, petulantly. “Do you know how many young, innocent hearts Santa breaks when children finally realize that he's not real, and they were lied to by their parents—the people they're _supposed_ to be able to trust to love and support them above everyone else? He's _obviously_ the incarnation of evil.” 

Nathan raised his eyebrows as he sat back in his chair, lips twitching in amusement. “You seem rather opinionated on the subject,” he remarked. 

Wade scowled, looking down and ripping ineffectively at the carpet. “If I had a kid, I'd _never_ lie to them like that. Vampires and werewolves are real—Dracula and Frankenstein and all other manner of monsters—but Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and fairies and shit? Not. Fucking. Real. In this crazy world where monsters and gods and aliens all exist, doesn't it seem especially cruel to make children believe in the things that _don't_ exist?” 

Wade looked up, and Nathan smiled softly at the mercenary's oddly distraught expression. 

“It does,” Nathan agreed. 

Relaxing slightly, Wade nodded, looking pleased. Pulling another rubber band out of his pocket, he lay back down and began shooting it up at the ceiling. 

Nathan sighed, exasperated. 

“Make sure you shave before attending any of those Christmas parties, Nate,” Wade said distractedly, shooting and catching and shooting and catching the rubber band that twanged softly against the ceiling: _twack; twack; twack._ “And don't wear a Santa hat!”

Sighing again, Nathan went back to his paperwork, casting glances at the mercenary every so often. 

Eventually Wade got up and left, mumbling something about chocolate chimichangas and a red ribbon that should have been white.

* * *

_**~Wade's apartment, New York City, December 25, 12:06 AM~** _

* * *

Wade had spent Christmas Eve hiding in his apartment. 

Nowhere else was safe! The world had been taken over by ugly sweaters! Even Providence had been overtaken with the plague! 

So Wade had holed up in his apartment—the one last place in the world, he was certain, that had not been infected with ugly sweaters. 

The last time he'd stepped out of his apartment—which was two days ago—he'd barely left his building before the evil sweaters accosted his eyes, and he had to run back inside in order to keep himself from going on a homicidal rampage and killing every adult wearing an ugly sweater. Not the kids, though—it wasn't the kids fault if their parents made them wear ugly sweaters. The adults, though? They were wearing the sweaters of their own volition. It was irredeemable! 

So Wade had been spending the time since locked in his apartment with a few gallons of eggnog and a tall stack of movies, since there was no way to watch the TV channels without running into stupid Christmas crap. There was simply never anything good on during the twelve days of Christmas, or however many days it was. It was twelve days, right? With the twenty-fifth of December simply being the most prominent? 

Whatever. 

In his spite, Wade decided to spend part of the time parodying the stupid Christmas songs that had been playing since the day after Thanksgiving. 

Twelve verses into the Twelve Days of Christmas, and Wade was singing:

“On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:

“Twelve dummers dying,

“Eleven pipers dying,

“Ten lords a'dying,

“Nine ladies a'dying,

“Eight maids a'dying,

“Seven swans a'dying,

“Six geese a'dying,

“Five kaaataaaanaaaa blaaaaades!

“Four dying birds,

“Three dead hens,

“Two grenade launchers,

“and a dead bear in a bare tree!”

[That was very original,] the stuck-up voice in his head (the Courier New one) told him. [Truly creative.]

{Hey, it was still better than the original version!} the nice voice (the bold one in the yellow boxes) pointed out. 

“Thank you, Yellow,” Wade said, taking another swig of eggnog. (It was just regular eggnog, mind you—zero percent alcohol content. What was the point in spiking the eggnog with alcohol when Wade couldn't even get buzzed?) 

{What should we sing next?!}

[How about…. Oh, I don't know…. NOTHING.]

“I don't want a lot for Christmas!” Wade started singing. “There is just one thing I need!”

[Oh, come on!]

{What? But this is the perfect Christmas song for pretending to be drunk to!}

“I don't care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree! I just want you for my own—”

[Is this even a parody? Or are we just singing the song how it actually goes?]

“—More than you could ever know! Make my wish come true, baby, all I want for Christmas is you—”

[Oh, please. We're not still hung up on that Son of a Cyclops are we?]

“—and a grenade launcher or two!”

[...What?]

{I'm pretty sure that doesn't even fit into the song.}

“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know! All I want for Christmas is you, but bring the grenade launchers too!”

{Hehe.}

“I won't ask for much this Christmas, I won't even wish for snow! And I, I just wanna keep on waiting, for the bombs I set to blow!” 

[This doesn't even count as a parody. You're hardly changing the lyrics at all.]

“I won't make a list and send it, to Providence in the Pacific! I won't even stay awake, to poke the reindeer with a stick!”

[Wow.]

“Cuz I just want you here tonight, holding on to me so tight! While we watch the buildings blow, exploding in a fearsome glow!”

[This is awful.]

“All the world is burning, so brightly everywhere! And the sound of people's screaming fills the air!”

[I can't believe you're really singing this.]

“And oh how everyone is screaming! I hear those sirens ringing! So won't you bring me, the one thing I really need! Won't you please come to me and bring the grenades with you!”

[Could you possibly shoot yourself in the head now so I don't have to keep listening to his blather?]

{...I actually liked the original version of the song better. I just usually hate the voices of the singers. The My Chemical Romance version is pretty good, though.}

Wade chugged down the rest of the mug of eggnog, before throwing himself down on the couch on his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow there for a moment. 

{It's after midnight. You know that means that it's officially Christmas, right?}

Wade raised his head and started singing again, idly picking at a thread on the pillow as he did so. 

“Deck the halls with chopped-up bodies! Fa la la la la la la la! 'Tis the season to be naughty! Fa la la la la la la la la! 

“Don we now our spandex outfits! Fa la la la la la la la la! Troll the world for the hell of it! Fa la la la la la la la la! 

“See the dying souls before us! Fa la la la la la la la la! Draw your swords and join the skirmish! Fa la la la la la la la la! 

“Follow me to imminent death! Fa la la la la la la la la! While I steal away your last breath! Fa la la la la la la la la! 

“Fast away your poor life passes! Fa la la la la la la la la! Hail the dead, ye lads and lasses! Fa la la la la la la la la! 

“Kill we merciless together! Fa la la la la la la la la! Heedless of the ones we treasure! Fa la la la la la la la la!”

“That's a rather… morbid… rendition of a classic Christmas carol,” came a voice from the doorway. 

Wade glanced over to see Nathan standing there, dressed in a black suit, white shirt, dark blue tie. 

“Way better than the original version, yeah?” Wade said, raising his eyebrows, lips quirking. 

“Not the lyrics, no,” Nathan said, striding in and sitting down on the coffee table across from him. “But I'd take your voice over the singers on the radio any day.” 

{Squee! How sweet!}

[Oh, please.]

Wade wrinkled his nose. “The voices in my head are in disagreement about how to feel about that comment,” he told the other man frankly. “And I'm too paranoid about ugly sweaters to form my own opinion right now.”

“Paranoid about ugly sweaters?” Nathan asked, raising his brows. 

“They're everywhere!” Wade cried, sitting up and gesturing around, eyes wide. “It's an invasion! It's like the Skrull Invasion, except the invaders are even uglier! The _sweaters,_ Nate,” Wade groaned, leaning back into the couch cushions and pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I haven't been able to leave my apartment in three days. And I probably won't be able to get out until after New Years! When do those things finally lose their power over the easily impressionable?!” 

“I… don't know,” Nathan said, looking at the mercenary and pursing his lips. “But I would… appreciate it… if you'd be willing to leave your apartment before that.” 

Wade removed his hands from his eyes, sitting up and peering at the other man, suddenly suspicious. “What are you doing here dropping by my apartment after midnight anyway, huh? And dressed in _that_ , no less,” he added, gesturing to the suit in barely-concealed contempt. “Not that it doesn't look good on you or anything… but it's not exactly the kind of outfit one wears when dropping by a friend's house after midnight…” Wade blinked in realization, tilting his head as he inspected Nate's face, eyes narrowed. “Unless you're here to conduct business?”

Nathan wet his lips to speak, before venturing, “In a way, yes…” 

Suddenly Wade was grinning in delight and leaning forward. “Are you hiring me to crash a Christmas party?” he asked eagerly. “I've been so disappointed that I haven't gotten such a call yet!”

“Not… exactly, no,” Nathan said, and suddenly he seemed nervous, lowering his eyes for a moment before seeming to force himself to meet Wade's gaze again. 

“Oh,” Wade said, disappointed as he flopped back into the couch cushions with a bitter frown. “Then why the hell are you here, huh? Because I don't do booty calls, I'll have you know.” 

“No, I…” Nathan took a deep breath, sitting up straighter and giving Wade a weak, almost uncertain smile. “I want you to come with me to the X-Men Christmas party.” 

“You _what?!”_ Wade asked, eyes wide. He recovered quickly, a sneer pulling at his lips. “How stupid _are_ you?! First of all, I didn't get an invitation, so obviously they don't want me there, and I'm pretty sure guests aren't allowed to invite others. Second of all, taking me with you is _not_ going to inspire anyone's confidence that you're not secretly an evil tyrant planning to rule the world. And _third of all,_ I'm mentally unstable and if I so much as see a _single person_ wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, I will not be able to keep myself from shooting them!”

Nathan carefully folded his hands in his lap, tilting his chin up. “To address your first point,” he said calmly, “I'm sure that paid escorts are allowed.” 

Wade barked out a surprised laugh. “You're going to _pay me_ to attend the X-Men Christmas party?! What the hell _for?!”_

“Emotional support,” Nathan answered evenly, lips twitching. 

Wade stared at him. 

“To answer your second point,” Nathan continued, “I'm sure anyone would agree that if I were secretly an evil tyrant planning to rule the world, I wouldn't need to bring my best friend with me just so I can face my father.” 

Wade blinked. “Wait, so I'm a paid escort _and_ a best friend, now? What else am I on top of that? Body guard? Valet? Pet psychopath? Professional fool? The Bad Cop to your Good Cop?” 

“And to answer your third point,” Nathan said, ignoring Wade's rambling in favor of reaching into his jacket and pulling out a neon green and pink gun with the label _Paint Ball Gun: Non-Lethal and Non-Injurious_ , setting it down in front of Wade and raising his eyebrows expectantly. “I'm sure this will solve the problem of your urge to shoot those wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. 

Wade looked at him for a moment, before he burst out guffawing, collapsing sideways on the couch as he held his sides and curled in on himself with peals of laughter.

“Is that a Yes?” Nathan asked. 

“That,” Wade gasped, shakily pushing himself back up into a sitting position, a hilarious grin still plastered on his face, his tone distinctly amused, “depends on how much you're willing to pay me. Emotional Support is new territory for me, and as such I would require an adequately large sum to even get me to attempt such a thing, much less actually focus on providing that service.” 

“Very well,” Nathan agreed, pulling out his wallet.


	2. The Fashion Policeman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wade fails at the job he was hired to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoopsie, this chapter ended up being not that much about Nate and Wade, and more about X-Men ridiculousness ;P 
> 
> And sorry it took so long to get this next chapter up!

* * *

**_~Utopia, San Francisco, December 24, 10:16 PM~_ **

* * *

They bodyslid out of Wade's New York City apartment on December 25 at 1:16 AM, and arrived in Utopia on December 24 at 10:16 PM.

“Time changes are soooooo weird,” Deadpool said, straightening his red bow-tie and brushing a hand back over his mask as Nathan knocked at the metal door of the X-Men fortress. 

Along the the red bow-tie, Wade was wearing a formal suit and dress shirt over his Deadpool outfit, and he had the paint-ball gun slung across his back. 

However, as soon as the door opened and a smiling Scott Summers in an ugly Christmas sweater stood in the doorway opening his mouth to greet his sun, the paint-ball gun was in Deadpool hands and he was using Nate's hulking form as cover as he paint-balled the hell out of the stupid reindeer with the stupid red nose on the stupid green sweater—and green was _so_ not Scott's color, why the hell had Emma let him get away with wearing such a monstrosity? 

Neon pink, yellow, and blue looked much better on him, honestly. 

Scott looked down at the paint-covered ugly sweater—which was no longer ugly because it was covered in bright, beautiful paint, and the creepy, ugly reindeer could no longer be seen—gawking (in wonder at the improvement, no doubt). 

And then he was looking up and probably narrowing his eyes—not that you could see his eyes narrow what with the ruby-quartz glasses he wore—and demanding, “Why is Deadpool here?!” 

“He's my paid escort,” Nathan said calmly. 

“What?!” Scott demanded, gaping at him. Ha! Wade wished he could see the man's eyes. Except that it would mean getting blasted, and he was wearing his nice suit. 

“Are you going to invite us in?” Nathan asked, and from Wade's position hiding behind him, he could see his jaw tense slightly, which either meant that Nate was nervous or trying not to laugh. “Winter in San Francisco isn't as cold as winter in New York, but I hardly think that's reason enough to justify leaving us outside.” 

Wordlessly, Scott stood back, and Nathan nodded in thanks and brushed past him, Deadpool hanging onto the back of his coat and giving Scott a thumbs-up and a quipped, “Your new sweater _much_ better look than the old one! I approve!” 

“Wade,” Nathan chided gently as he reached behind him, removing the mercenary's fingers from his coat and then pulling him around in front of him, narrowing his eyes slightly. “It's one thing to redecorate the ugly Christmas sweaters with paint, but there's no need to rub it in. And please don't crinkle my suit.” 

Deadpool cackled. 

Grumbling, Scott closed the door and followed them into the living room, pulling the paint-balled sweater up over his head. 

“How _did_ you get him to take that atrocious thing off?” came a smooth, self-possessed voice as Emma Frost walked over in her wintry white outfit that exposed her cleavage and diamond-hard (ha) abs. She was wearing blue lipstick, blue eyeshadow, and wicked-looking high-heels (seriously, Wade bet she could kill a man with those weapons-masquerading-as-footwear). 

She placed a hand on Scott's chest, running white-gloved hands over the fabric of the dark blue t-shirt he was wearing. “I've been trying to get him to take that ugly thing off all night,” she murmured, looking up through mascaraed eyelashes and smirking slightly as she reached up to run her fingers through Scott's mahogany hair. “Green _really_ isn't your color, darling.” 

Nathan watched this exchange with an expression of mild consternation, and Wade laughed at him. 

“Wade covered the sweater in paint,” Scott said by way of explanation, making Emma raise her blond eyebrows and glance over at the mercenary. 

Deadpool waved, bowing. “The Fashion Policeman, at your service, m'lady!” 

Emma's blue lips quirked. “How quaint,” she said. “In that case, Logan, Hank, Bobby, and Rogue are all wearing the atrocious things as well. I think it has something to do with their secret fraternity club.” 

“On it, m'lady!” Deadpool cried, rushing out of the room with Nate calling “Wait, Wade!” somewhat desperately and rushing after him. 

_“Emma!”_ Scott protested, but she cut him off with a kiss. 

When he pulled back, stuttering, a light flush on his cheeks and “Whu—” stumbling on his tongue, Emma smirked and pointed up at the mistletoe above their heads. 

Scott closed his mouth, tilting his head up to glare (presumably) at the mistletoe. “I swear that wasn't there before,” he said with a huff. 

“Whatever the case, it's there,” Emma murmured, kissing him again. 

Scott didn't try to pull away that time. 

(When they finally did break apart again, Scott's lips were blue.) 

(It was a good thing that blue was a fine color on him.)

* * *

When Nathan entered the main room where the festivities were taking place, he took a moment to appreciate the decorations. 

It was a large, spacious room, and in the corner there was a large Christmas tree that brushed the ceiling, adorned with multi-colored lights and soft but colorful plushy ornaments (which Nathan assumed was so none of them would break or get used as a weapon). There was a Yule log flickering in the fireplace hung with lights and holly garners, and there was a wreath hanging on the wall above it. The the fire emitted a fire-like warmth, it didn't feel quite real; the flame's occasional tendency to flicker green or pink didn't help matters. 

Still, the room was warm and full of the scent of Douglas fir and apple cider, and Christmas pop music played in the background. Nathan, rather wryly, thought he recognized the particular song playing as Justin Beiber. 

Some of the teenage girls—Pixie, Armor, and Mercury—were dancing in a corner with full of flashing rainbow lights, while two others—Blindfold and X-23—stood against the wall. X-23 was looking around the room, glaring, arms crossed, while Blindfold had turned her face towards where Nathan and Wade had entered. 

Several of the teachers were either sitting on the couches around the tree or standing by the doorway to the kitchen, chatting amongst themselves and watching the festivities. Prodigy, rather unsurprisingly, was standing with them, keeping an eye on the other students that were laughing merrily and milling about the room, draping themselves over chairs and couches and the floor. Nathan couldn't even remember all their names. Rockslide. Elixir. Anole. Hellion. The Stepford Cuckoos. So many others. 

The room was filled with laughter, chatter, and even some indignant yells, but it was rather peaceful to see so many mutants—all different colors of skin and hair and scales and fur, all different powers being let off in playful bursts. 

It felt like a large family—a strange one, sure, but a family nonetheless. 

And then the moment was over, and the room stunned quiet as everyone stared at the paint dripping down the sweaters of Wolverine, Beast, Iceman, and Rogue, Deadpool standing there with his paint-ball gun, grinning. 

“You have been ticketed by the Fashion Policeman, beaches!” Deadpool declared. 

_Snikt!_ went Wolverine's claws.

And then Rogue suddenly jumped to her feet, shouting, “AH'M GONNA GET YA FOR THAT, DEADPOOL!” as she lunged at him. 

“Zoinks!” Deadpool exclaimed, dropping the empty paint-ball gun to the ground and vaulting over the couch (to the shrieks of the young mutants sitting there) and rushing out of the room, Rogue hot on his heels. 

Bobby burst out laughing, doubling over so far he was a hair's breadth away from getting paint on his jeans. 

“Oh, my stars and garters,” Hank said, shaking his head as he stood up and pulled his paint-balled sweater off, revealing just his furry blue chest underneath. He held the paint-covered garment away from him, sighing. “At least he was considerate enough not to get paint in my fur,” he muttered. “Getting paint out of fur is unduly frustrating. I do believe this sweater is permanently ruined.” 

Logan didn't even bother to pull the garment up over his head—he simply used his extended claws to cut the garment off. He was wearing a white wifebeater underneath. “Well, I sure as hell ain't gonna shed any tears over it,” he grumbled, chucking the garment across the room and into the trash can. “I can't believe Scott even convinced me to wear that thing.” 

By this time, most of the other X-Men had disregarded the scene and gone back to hanging out, talking, dancing, or whatever else they'd been doing. It said a lot about everything they'd been through that such a spectacle was normal to them. 

Bobby, though, was still laughing. In fact, he laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch. 

“C'mon, bub,” Logan grunted, standing and forcing the younger man to his feet, carefully beginning to cut the painted garment off him. “Before y'get paint everywhere from rollin' on the ground laughin' like a loony.” The hirsute mutant sniffed, rolling his eyes. “Jeez, kid, y'already smell drunk. How much eggnogg have you _drank?”_

“'M… not a kid anymore, Logan,” Bobby gasped between peels of laughter, leaning on the shorter man as Logan got the paint-balled sweater off and handed it to an amused Hank to dispose of. 

“Yeah, well, yer actin' like one,” Logan grunted as his hair was covered in frost by the giggling Bobby. 

Hank sighed, glancing at the clock. “He's drunk, and it's not even _eleven,_ yet. What _has_ gotten into him?” 

Suddenly Deadpool ran back through the room, with a shout of, “Help! There's a rogue animal after me!” and ran right back out of the room as Rogue came running after him, yelling, “GET BACK HERE, YA NUT CASE! AH'LL GIVE YA A PIECE 'A MY MIND!” 

“Don't take a piece of mine!” came Deadpool's voice as he rushed away down the hall. “You wouldn't like it! There are voices in my head and they're really annoying! So keep your gloves on!” 

“AH CAN STILL BEAT YOUR HEAD IN WITH MAH GLOVES ON, SUGAH!” she yelled, charging down the hallway after him. 

Bobby cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting, “YEAH! YOU GO GET 'IM, ROGUE!” 

Then he collapsed back against Logan, laughing again. He gave a hiccup, and accidentally created a snowball, which just so happened to fall on the exasperated Nathan's head. 

Nathan didn't even flinch, his eyes clenched shut, pinching the bridge of his nose like he'd been for the last few minutes. Only now snow was dripping from his hair and sliding over his face. 

“Whoopsie,” Bobby giggled, trying to push away from Logan, only to hiccup again and immediately slip on a patch of ice that suddenly appeared on the floor, falling right back into Logan's arms, where he then proceeded to snuggling closer. “Looogan, you're so _hot,”_ he murmured, burying his face in the shorter mutant's neck. 

Hank chuckled despite himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, and yer _cold_ , bub,” Logan snorted, wrapping an arm around the taller, slighter man and beginning to half-carry him out of the room. “Let's get ya to bed before ya accident'ly cover the room in icicles or some shit like that.” 

Bobby hiccuped again, and a snowball fell onto Logan's head. Bobby laughed. 

“Very funny, kid,” Logan grunted as snow slid down his hair, dragging the younger man out of the room. 

Logan gave a surprised “Mmmph!” when Bobby suddenly sloppily pressed his cold lips against his, before collapsing back against him, giggling. 

“What th'hell was _that_ fer?!” Logan demanded, only to sniff and then glance at the doorway above them, where a sprig of mistletoe was hanging. 

“S'Chris'muss!” Bobby giggled as Logan tossed him over his shoulder, growling, and carried him out of the room. “S'bad luck not to kiss un'er mistletoe on Chris'muss! Don't… wan' you to have bad luck, Loge…” either they'd traveled out of earshot or Bobby had passed out. 

Nathan shook his head. “Is this what it's _always_ like with the X-Men?” he asked, forcing himself to take a deep breath through his nose as he opened his eyes, gaze landing on the furry blue scientist. 

“Sometimes,” Hank chuckled, patting him on the shoulder and giving him a reassuring (fanged) grin. “You get used to it, though.” 

“Not sure I want to stay that long,” Nathan admitted, glancing at the doorway as there was a loud (familiar) yelp and suddenly Deadpool had tumbled to the ground and Rogue was sitting on top of him, yelling, “YOU'RE GONNA GET IT, SUGAH!” and throttling him. 

“WAIT!” Deadpool yelled, holding up his hands. “If you're going to throttle me here, then you have to kiss me, too!” 

“What?” Rogue asked, frowning as she pulled back, irritably brushing strands of white and brown hair out of her face with a green glove. 

“Mistletoe,” Wade said, pointing above them, where a sprig of mistletoe was indeed hanging in the doorway where she'd tackled him. 

Rogue growled, glaring down at him and fisting her hand in the neck of his suit. “If ya think for even one second, sugah, that Ah'm gonna—”

“It's Christmas!” Deadpool pointed out, grinning up at her. “It's not Christmas if you don't kiss _someone._ And it's bad luck not to kiss when you end up under the mistletoe! Also,” he added hurriedly as she looked about ready to rip his head off, “I'm the _perfect_ person for you to kiss, since I'm wearing a mask! So you don't have to worry about skin-on-skin contact and absorbing any voices into your head.” 

Rogue stared at him. Then, with a growled out “Fine,” she bent down and pressed her lips against his masked ones. 

And then she quickly stood, picked him up and threw him across the room, yelling, “BUT DON'T THINK IT MEANS ANYTHIN'!” 

Deadpool slammed into the concrete wall and slid to the floor, grinning goofily and giving her a thumbs-up. “Never from you, sugar!”

Then Rogue humphed and stalked across the room, disappearing into the kitchen, Storm, Magneto, and Prodigy stepping aside to let her pass. Nobody in the room had so much as flinched. Which could have had something to do with Rockslide and Anole having a wrestling match dangerously close to the Christmas tree, a group of the other students cheering them on. 

Meanwhile, Nathan carefully forced his hands to unclench, as they'd balled into fists when Deadpool had been kissed. Deadpool had accepted the kiss so _eagerly_ and—

No. Nathan was not jealous. 

“Nathan,” came Scott's voice, and Nathan turned to see his father standing there—but all he really noticed was the blue lipstick smudged on Scott's lips. 

“Dad,” Nathan said. “You have blue lipstick smudged on your lips.” 

Scott's cheeks flushed slightly, and he pulled out a handkerchief and hurriedly wiped his mouth, muttering, “Why didn't she _tell_ me? She let me just walk into the room like this—”

“Dad,” Nathan said, his lips twitching. 

“Right,” Scott said with a little grin, tucking the handkerchief away and clearing his throat. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it, and it's nice to see you.” 

“It's nice to see you, too,” Nathan said, silently praying for an angel to come save him from the awkwardness (because it was Christmas and the first thing he saw when his eyes flicked around was the angel on top of the Christmas tree, so an angel was the first thing that popped into his head). 

But Deadpool, he supposed, as the mercenary crashed into him with a flying tackle hug, was just as good as an angel (if not better).

* * *

“NATE!” Deadpool yelled, from where he was practically hanging on the other man's shoulders. “You have _got_ to go into the kitchen and grab some eggnog! Because it smells really, really good, but Rogue's in there and I don't want to risk getting thrown into a wall again just in case I end up breaking the pretty decorations, so you have to go into the kitchen and get me some!” 

“How old are you?” Nathan asked with a roll of his eyes as he pried the mercenary off him, nonetheless grateful. He didn't look at his father. “Because you're acting like you're twelve.” 

Deadpool just grinned at him, the mask creasing with the gesture. “I'm old enough to drink alcoholic eggnog, I'll have you know. And I'm also old enough that I've done things _way_ not appropriate for a twelve-year old.” 

_“Not_ information you need to speak out loud,” Nathan muttered, sending his father a wry, somewhat apologetic look. Scott did not look in the least bit amused. 

“What?” Deadpool leered, leaning closer, the large oval eyes of his mask expressionless but the grin evident in his humming voice. “Would you rather I _show_ you?” 

Scott cleared his throat. 

“Yes, Wade,” Nathan deadpanned. “Show me how mature you are by going to sit in that chair over by the fireplace and _not touching anything.”_

“I can be mature!” Deadpool said indignantly, marching over to the chair. 

Nathan sent his father an apologetic smile before politely excusing himself and heading gratefully into the kitchen.

* * *

When he returned with two glasses of eggnog (one for himself—he wasn't going to bring Wade two sugary and alcoholic beverages, no matter that the man couldn't actually get drunk or sugar-high), he found Deadpool pacing around the chair, glaring at it and muttering under his breath, sounding like he was arguing to himself. 

“Wade?” Nathan said with a raised eyebrow, as he took the other chair set beside it. “What are you doing?” 

“Arguing with myself,” Wade said, shaking his head and glaring at the chair some more. 

“About what?” Nathan prompted, taking a sip of his own glass of eggnog, watching in amusement as Wade continued glaring. 

“About which part of your request was more important,” Wade said with an exasperated huff, turning his glare to Nathan, crossing his arms pointedly. “Because I'd think, as a leader guy, you wouldn't give contradictory instructions. You told me to _sit in the chair_ and also _not to touch anything._ But I can't sit in the chair without touching it! So I was trying to figure out which I was supposed to do!” He threw up his hands in annoyance. “ _Seriously,_ Nate! What the _hell?”_

Nathan blinked. And then he just smiled slightly and held out Wade's drink, saying, not unkindly, “Sit down, Wade.” 

Wade huffed and sat, but he took the drink. He then proceeded to just stare at it as he ran his fingers around the cold glass surface, staring into the creamy, black-speckled depths with a frown hidden behind the mask. 

“Wade?” Nathan asked, feeling a frown tug at his own lips as he watched mercenary. “What is it?” 

The red cloth over Wade's mouth twisted, and he said wryly, “I just remembered that, though I'm the Merc with a Mouth, my mask doesn't have a mouth. And drinking through the fabric doesn't work—I tried it once, with coffee. It was a bad idea. Also, you came in and everyone was cheering for you, and you were rude.” 

Nathan frowned. “I don't remember this.” 

“You wouldn't,” Wade said, snickering. “It was on a recap page.” He glanced down at the black suit he was wearing over his Deadpool outfit. “I think I was wearing this same suit, too. Different shirt of course, because of the coffee stain. And I think my bow-tie was black, not red. And I think my gloves were red, not black, because I decided to wear actual nice-outfit black gloves today to go with the suit. And also because I only could find one of my red gloves. I think I lost the other when I got my hand chopped off by that crazy guy with an ax. Remind me never again to mistake someone from Denmark for a Spaniard.” 

Nathan tried for a moment to make sense of that, and then just shook his head. “And that means you can't drink your eggnog, why?” 

“Because I'd have to roll up my mask to take a drink,” Wade said, his tone making it clear he was rolling his eyes behind the expressionless mask. “Duh.” 

That statement should not have hurt Nathan as much as it did. 

“Wade,” Nathan said carefully, glancing around at the rest of the room, at all the mutants with their different colored and textured skin. Gray. Green. Blue. Gold. Silver. Pink and red. One of the kids looked to be made out of rocks. Hell, one of the kids was on _fire._ “If there's anywhere where you won't be judged for your skin, I think it's here.” 

Deadpool looked around. His voice was wry as he spoke. “X-Men look out for each other. Accept each other.” The blank-eyed mask turned back to Nathan. “But I'm not an X-Man, Nate. The X-Men are literally made of all the world's misfits, the people who don't fit in, and aren't wanted, anywhere else—and I don't even fit in among these misfits—among the world's most _hated_ and _feared._ I unwanted _even among the world's most unwanted.”_

The mercenary shook his head, snickering as he glanced around the room again. Nobody was paying the two of them any attention. “It was nice of you to bring me along, Nate. I like watching that which I'll never have.” 

Something sank in Nathan's gut, twisting and cold, and he opened his mouth to say—he didn't even know, but something—but he never got the chance. 

“That is quite enough of that!” Wade suddenly cried, setting his eggnog down and jumping to his feet, grabbing Nathan's hand and pulling him bodily out of his chair, yanking him so hard that Nathan's telekenesis was all that kept his own eggnog from spilling all over his hand to the floor. “I am so done with sucking at my job! You didn't hire me to abandon you and then return only to depress you—I'm here to make sure you have a good time that isn't dampened by awkwardness with your father, right?!” 

“Uh,” Nathan said intelligently, mind scrabbling to catch up as he was dragged across the room to where Magneto was standing. Storm had wandered off and was talking to Kitty on the other side of the room, and some of the other teens had dragged Prodigy into their game of candy-cane poker (Prodigy had already amassed quite a large pile of the candies). Which left Magneto standing alone in his gray slacks, suit coat and tie, though he was still wearing his signature helmet (even if it was a white version). He was watching the holiday festivities, looking disquieted, his hand seeming to clench around something in his jacket pocket. 

“Hey, Mags!” Deadpool greeted brightly, bounding up to the former terrorist with Nathan in tow. “It's nice to see you! I am a huge fan of your work in killing off the human race—I've been slowly chiseling away at that goal as well—and I must say, I love the new monochromatic color scheme. And if I dare say, that helmet looks _quite_ fetching on you.” 

The Great Magneto regarded him coolly. “You are not a mutant.” 

“The sign on the door didn't say that an X-gene was required for entry to the party,” Deadpool told him. “Just that no homosapiens were allowed.” 

“Mm,” Magneto said, considering with calculating, cold blue eyes. The stare softened minutely. “There may be a place for you in my new world order of homosuperior.” 

“Awesome-sauce!” Deadpool grinned, not letting go of Nathan's hand even as he reached into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket, pulling out a small card and handing it to the Master of Magnetism. “Here's my business card. It's even got traces of metal in the lettering so you can find it again just in case you drop it! Make sure you call me when you're planning your world take-over, okay? I want to be killing for the winning side.” 

Magneto's lips twitched, and tucked the card away in a pocket. “Thank you.” 

“Gern geschehen!” Deadpool grinned, making the Master of Magnetism raise a curious eyebrow. “Und Frohe Weihnachten!” 

“Sprichst du Deutsch?” Magneto asked. 

“Ja, ich spreche Deutsch,” Deadpool said, shrugging, but still grinning. He then began speaking German so quickly that Nathan had no hope of catching any of the unfamiliar words. And it was a little distracting the way the rough sounds of the German language sounded in Wade's already rough voice… 

And then suddenly Magneto was turning to him, asking, “Really? Is that so?” 

Nathan sighed internally. “What did he say?” 

“He said that you are my archenemy because we are both white-haired tyrants secretly plotting to rule the world,” Magneto said smoothly, and since he was wearing his helmet Nathan couldn't use his telepathy to tell whether the man was angry or amused at the idea. 

Nathan sighed out loud. “He didn't happen to say anything about me plotting to take over the world by dressing up as Santa Claus and recruiting all the other 'Santas and Clauses' to my cause, did he?” 

“No,” Magneto said. “He apparently forgot to mention that detail.” 

“I don't know how he comes up with his conspiracy theories, but I'm not secretly planning to take over the world,” Nathan said, glaring at the mercenary who was still refusing to let go of his hand. 

Deadpool was too busy staring at the rainbow lights on the other side of the room to notice. 

“Good,” Magneto said, narrowing his eyes. “You're one of those who believe humans and mutants can liver together in peace, aren't you?” he asked, spitting out the words 'in peace' like they were something vile. 

Nathan sighed, rubbing his brow. “I'd rather not talk politics on Christmas, if that's alright with you.” 

There was a smallest sound of air suddenly being misplaced, and then Deadpool was looking up above them, his eyes widening. “Dude, there's fucking mistletoe above your heads! I swear that wasn't there a moment before!” 

Nathan and Magneto glanced up, to see that, indeed, there was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above them. They looked back at each other, then around the room, to find that Deadpool's cry had somehow caught everyone's attention, and all the other mutants were watching them. 

“Kiss!” somebody shouted, and then others took up the chorus, laughing and chanting and clapping their hands. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Some terribly immature individual was singing, “Cable and Magneto, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! The Master of Magnetism and the Messiah, sitting in a tree! S-M-O-O-C-H-I-N-G!” 

Magneto flicked his hand, and the mistletoe was shoved slightly to the side so that it was now over Nathan and Wade's heads, instead of Nathan's and his own. 

And then Magneto calmly floated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, for the record, [Bobby Drake has recently come out as gay in Marvel comics (and it's been a long time coming)](http://nerdist.com/for-lgbt-fans-of-x-men-iceman-coming-out-as-gay-has-been-a-long-time-coming). 
> 
> According to Deadpool's Marvel Wiki page, he is fluent in Spanish, Japanese, German, and Russian. And for those who don't know, Magneto, aka Erik Lehnsherr, aka Max Eisenhardt, was born in Germany. He grew up there during World War II. His family was Jewish. Needless to say, Magneto's past is dark and unhappy. 
> 
> Agh though, I'm not very familiar with most of the characters who lived on Utopia! D: I didn't follow the Utopia arc too carefully, and I haven't read any X-Men comics in over a year. Oy vey. I seriously need to catch up on my comic reading!! I read a little of the new Magneto comic, but then.... I am so terribly, terribly behind. On everything. 
> 
> And where the hell is all the mistletoe coming from?!?! Who knows?!?! XD
> 
> This story is still TBC, by the way ;3


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